People Watching
by Antikira
Summary: Zexion reflects on the pros and cons of one of his oldest habits.


I generally make it a point not to tell anyone about this particular hobby of mine, but I love to people-watch. There's just something about other people's mentalities, alone or in a group, that fascinates me, and I love to see it in action. How examining just a little bit of someone's daily activities will let you into their personality just that much more.

However, I may be cheating at this past time a little bit; I don't watch everyone I am around at the moment, but rather, I fixate on one particular person. And, as my regular reading post is outside in the middle of the main courtyard, I happen to see this person quite a lot. Now, don't get me wrong; I'm no stalker. This is the only place I've ever really seen this person; yes, I do occasionally see him in the halls of Hollow Bastion University, but no, I do not follow him. I do not make it a point to find out every aspect of this person's life. I just like to observe him when he passes by my reading spot, and that's all.

It's a sunny day; I'm perched in my spot, studying for my Literary Analysis final, reading my notes as if the world were going to end should I fail this test (which I know I won't; I've been scoring almost perfect grades since my first semester at HBU). The sun is beating down on my back, and I slightly wish I hadn't worn a jacket today as the sun is only heating it up. But my discomfort is soon forgotten when _he_ walks past. His blond mullet is carefully styled, and a daydreaming expression lights his light blue eyes. He walks with a slight bounce in his step, obviously pleased with something that had happened previously. He is humming an unrecognizable tune; just the mere sound is pleasing to my ears – there's no doubt in my mind that he is a voice major. He walks by without so much as a glance at me, and even then, I feel my face get hot. I watch his retreating back as he cheerfully greets a woman I also do not know with a kiss on the lips. My heart feels heavy for a fleeting second, and I go back to my notes.

It's a cloudy day; I've returned to my spot, this time with a Psychology textbook propped open on both a Biology and Chemistry textbook stacked on top of each other. There is no final to study for, but as an expert people-watcher, I've noticed that it's always better to look like you're doing something when you're not; most people find it disconcerting to see a strange man staring at them from afar. I just finish apathetically looking over the diagram of the cerebrum when I see that ridiculous blond mullet from the corner of my eye again. The pleasant, daydreaming expression from two weeks ago is gone, and it is replaced with an anxious, troubled one. He is no longer walking, but running, his pants softly heard as he rushes past me. I watch him with a fascinated cobalt eye (and here is where I learn that having my bangs so long that they cover half my face is not always a burden) as he runs past my reading space over to the girl from before, who looks far from pleased to see him. She taps her foot angrily as he speeds over to her, and part of me wants to get involved when she opens her mouth and starts to chastise him. But I don't; I am merely a spectator, and only bad things can come from my involvement. So I let them be, and they walk away without seeing my watching eyes.

It's a rainy day; I have grudgingly refrained from going outside to my normal post and have instead seated myself at the campus café. I am a bit surprised that the place isn't as populated as normal, but I count it a blessing as I normally can't concentrate on my so-called "profession" if there are too many people around. However, I don't think I'll be doing much people-watching today; my subject of scrutiny is not here at the moment, and no one who is actually present seems to be an interesting substitute. At the last minute before I turn back to the computer I have rented, the café door swings open, and there stood my usual subject. However, he does not seem to be in a particularly good mood; his hair is not styled, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are contorted into a very gratuitous frown; he looks exhausted. My only guess is that things did not go well with who I only assume is (perhaps was) his girlfriend yesterday. I give a polite half-smile in his direction, but quickly stopped myself before it got out of hand. He looks at me, but doesn't smile back; understandable. We go about our separate business. A few minutes later, he gets a call. He sighs in a tired fashion as he answers, and he puts the phone to his ear, but I can tell by his wandering eyes and impatient expression that he isn't interested in the conversation. As a matter of fact, he looks absolutely miserable. I'm starting to feel a little regret in my habit; why can't I just talk to him?

It's a clear day; I'm sitting outside again as soon as I realize that the concrete has dried. I only have my iPod and sunglasses (although my bangs should suit just fine as a curtain) with me so the general public will think I'm occupied when I'm not. My earbuds aren't playing any music, and these sunglasses aren't that hard to see through. I feel a little more open and vulnerable than I do when I have my textbooks, but at least it's not as much (or as heavy) to carry. I sit back against the wall and start watching the people go by, talking to their friends or walking alone. It doesn't take me long before I see him. He looks better than he did two days ago; his hair is better kempt, and he at least has a civilized expression. I hazard a smile as he passes by me; dangerous territory as he probably doesn't know who I am. He sees me and waves, a smile making its way across his face. I feel my heart lift, but then fall as he walks over to that girl from a couple of weeks ago and hugs her.

And that's when something hit home for me; being a people watcher doesn't mean you know the people you watch, no matter if you watch them daily or for five minutes. It doesn't make you their friend, and it doesn't make you involved in their life. And as I sit, watching my subject hug his girlfriend, I feel increasingly alone because I will always be watching on the sidelines, and not there with them.


End file.
